"I think I should leave..."
She whispers quietly
Her breath flutters out in short gasps around her.
Water drops race down her cheeks
Before reaching the edge and jumping off into space.
The response is just as sad; lonely perhaps
As no section of lyrics or poetry line could possibly describe
The emotions racing their way up the stairs from the floor below,
Even though they crash into numbing walls.
A brush of a finger
The snag on a single thread
Pull her back to reality; away from imagination.
It whines and begs; down on it's knees and nuzzles her hand
She shakes her auburn hair, no, in cascades of silk
Promising herself not to re-open that door.
But the waves in the blue of the eyes he owns
Beckons in such a way that is almost like a child.
The door is wide; snow flakes dance their way through
To show their affection for her eye lashes and lips.
His speech threatens to part; the frost rushes in.
Through one last attempt, his lungs force out:
"Please, don't leave me"

Promises break.
Doors are closed.